


PJO Drabble Collection

by Harlow R (harlowrd)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1252720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlowrd/pseuds/Harlow%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles of various lengths and ships, mostly inspired by typetrigger prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. what was stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason once had a thing that was so lovely.

Jason had always been alone, until the day that he wasn't.

She was alone too, and he told himself a hundred times that they weren't incomplete, it wasn't like that, they were both whole people on their own, but ( _but_ ) they seemed to just fit together and he was looking at a straight flat road ahead and it was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen in his life.

But then Jason misplaced the thing, and without looking for it he found something completely new and the old thing faded from his heart and the new thing was right there, and he discovered he wanted the new thing more, he just wanted it more. So he said his goodbyes to the old thing, even though the possibility of it was still out there somewhere.

But then Jason found the old thing, and he also found that his goodbyes weren't worth shit, and the new thing was still a thing but the old thing was _there_ , perfect, the way he'd left it (and maybe it was he who was misplaced – it certainly felt that way).

The new thing was his thing now, but he couldn't help but look into _her_ eyes and see their thing that they could have had, and it kind of ruined the new thing for him, because when he looked into _her_ (other her) eyes all he could see was how the new thing was different from the old thing, even if it was still lovely, so lovely (and delicate and fragile and fuck, just so different).

So now he found himself not with a choice but with a problem nonetheless, and it crushed with every step and hurt with every breath.

Jason once had a thing that was so lovely, and all that was left was pain.


	2. future of pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth had always been hard-pressed to let her guard down. [1]

There didn't used to be much Annabeth looked forward to in her life.

She knew once The Hero came, she'd have her quest. She knew she'd probably get to be camp counselor, eventually – maybe even a teacher. And she hoped she would get to study architecture and do what she loved for a (probably modest) living. Maybe she'd find a partner, but he likely wouldn't be ideal in any way. Luke had haver shown signs of reciprocating her feelings, so she'd swallow them and pretend it didn't break her heart. It was fine, whatever.

It _was._

Then, one night, her private game of 'look what the satyr's brought in' took a turn for the dramatic and everything she'd expected of her life was turned on its head.

Because what she'd soon (too soon) realized was that she loved that boy more than anything, and before she was ready it was his face instead of Luke's in her deepest, most private desires, and not her parents but a family of their own. Sometimes it was just her and Percy. Because he was it, he was the fantasy. And she hated him for it, but mostly she really, desperately loved him.

And she got him! Against all odds in the okay-ish, kind of sucky and likely-to-remain-mediocre life of Annabeth Chase, she got what she wanted and she had him all to herself. She let herself give in to the terrifying love that she felt and it was the hardest thing she'd ever done.

And she didn't want to regret it, she didn't. But as the months passed, despite her determination, a little voice in her head couldn't stop whispering 'I told you so'.

She thought it'd be alright to let him in. She loved him so much.

And now he was gone.


	3. pick it apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth had always been hard-pressed to let her guard down. [2]

Sometimes Annabeth's ADHD was defeated by interest alone – one of the perks of a trait that could be overwhelming otherwise, one she shared with her siblings. That was easy; she didn't even realise she'd been obsessing over something until hours had gone by and she'd forgotten to eat, to go to the bathroom, and about the general existence of other humans.

But sometimes she had to work for it. Sometimes she had to push herself when her mind wanted to wander, had to force herself to focus using years of practice and discipline of steel.

And this – her relationship – was one of those times. Because as much as she wanted to be normal, to be cool about it, she just couldn't. There was just too much baggage. She had to pour over every detail of their interactions, had to find and list his reasons, had to keep track of what made him stay.

Maybe it was because of her father; maybe it was Luke; maybe even her mother and Thalia and all the people she loved who had left her all alone. Percy had left before, but he came back; she knew at some point he could've had Rachel or even Calypso – a freaking goddess (!), but somehow he'd picked her and she had to know _why_ , because if she didn't how could she know he wouldn't eventually leave, too?

Annabeth liked a lot of things about herself. She even knew, pretty much objectively, just how valuable she was as an architect, a quest companion, even a friend. But this was something else altogether. Even though it was barely in its infancy, such a relationship was by definition a level of commitment that went above and beyond anything she'd experienced before.

It made her all the more terrified to lose him.


	4. solicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t like Percy to beg.

It wasn't like Percy to beg.

Not that he thought of himself as a particularly proud guy; it was just that somehow life had never given him much opportunity to beg people for help (or anything else, for that matter). With the exception of his mother, he'd always been virtually on his own as far as authority figures went (and he'd never had to beg _her_ for anything). He hadn't been raised religious, so asking for metaphysical help had never really been a thing, either.

Then he found out about the gods – that they existed, and that they were his family. A weird, dysfunctional clusterfuck of a family, but one nevertheless, and able to provide – among other things – supernatural help when he might really, _really_ need some.

Even then, he, like most self-preserving demigods, quickly learned to become wary of asking the gods for anything. Because doing that pretty much guaranteed he'd owe them a favor in return, and that was just asking for a metric fuckton of trouble. And the reverse somehow ended up never being quite true – the gods asked them for favors all the time, and their reward was often implied to be not getting zapped to death on the spot, which Percy found pretty unfair. Not that the gods cared what he thought.

But, as he sped to the hotel where Annabeth lay with a stab wound that was meant to be his, the New York buildings a windy blur whipping past his face, Percy Jackson figured there was a first time for everything. And that if he had to pray to those petty, glowing giants every day for the rest of his fucking life, he'd embrace the change.

_Anything. Anything you want. Just please, please let her be alright._


	5. look away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When does someone you know become a shadow of someone you loved?

It starts long before it gets bad, and it gets bad long before it gets unbearable.

Annabeth isn't a quitter. She could never afford to be, because she wants too much to be happy. It was never negotiable, that part. Still isn't, and it takes her many years to realize that's the ultimate manifestation of her hubris: the gods decide who gets to be happy and why and how. She wants to control her own destiny, and she can't – no hero can. Mortals might get away with it if they're lucky enough to escape the gods' notice, but never heroes.

And she knows all this, but thinks she can defy it anyway, just because she's her. And she's fully aware of it, but there's nothing she can do about it, because you can't grow out of your fatal flaw.

It happens for the first time in Tartarus. She watches, terrified, as he loses control – but he goes back to normal and she makes herself forget about it. After all, Tartarus made monsters of both of them, just a little. And he's her Percy.

But then, after Gaea, it happens when they're fighting a monster in the subway, and then again when he's training at Camp. Then again, and again, and again, and again.

She knows it. She _knows_ it. All heroes hold too much inside them. Most of them don't live long enough to see old age because of it. And he-- he holds the entire ocean. It was bound to break him.

Annabeth tries to hold him together. It's too much for her, but she holds on anyway, madly – because she's her, and she can do it. She knows there's something that can break her too, and maybe this is it, but she can't let go of what she wanted. He's her family – even when his green eyes darken and she can see the weight of divinity corroding his mortal body. She can carry both their loads; if anyone, she can do it.

She _can_.


	6. almost there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out gods know everything.

One fine day, none other than Percy Jackson shows up to interrupt Nico’s brooding time, deep in the woods near Camp. (Except he’s not Percy Jackson anymore, he’s _Perseus_ – much to his own chagrin. Nico kind of likes it.)

His eyes are knowing, his smirk is knowing – his whole body is knowing, and Nico’s heart is at his throat. “How— how did you find out?”

It turns out gods know everything. And when Percy took their uncle’s offer to become one, well...

He approaches Nico slowly, as if not to frighten him; his eyes look for confirmation with every step. At first his godly lips are coaxing on Nico’s, but soon their kiss becomes something that’s miles away from chaste or even sweet. It’s nice – _really_ nice – but Nico stops him.

“No.” He doesn’t have to say it.

The words weigh heavily between them anyway, and they both know what it means: it wasn’t lust that was driving Nico crazy all this time. If anything, lust was a byproduct of something that ached way worse.

Percy’s eyes are sad. Sorry. For him. “This is what I can give,” he says. “Now. This is all you can have.”

Nico takes it.


	7. oracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else could she give them, after all?

“It just feels like we’re freeloaders, that’s all,” Annabeth sighs. “It’s a crappy thing to be.”

“You’re not freeloaders,” Rachel protests. Sunlight is streaming through the loft’s tall windows and catching her frizzy red hair, done up in a messy bun. “This is _my_ apartment. It’s actually my name on the documents,” she adds over her shoulder as her bare feet tread softly toward the studio. Annabeth follows. “Plus it’s too big for just me, anyway.” She turns amid her brightly colored paintings, bringing Annabeth to a sudden stop. Rachel is shorter than her by a few inches; it used to make Annabeth feel weird and ungraceful around her, especially when she represented a possible rival for Percy’s attention, but now all that’s left of that feeling is affection and something else, something almost foreign. Annabeth thinks Rachel’s shortness, like most other things about her, is _cute_. “And I want you here,” she continues, green eyes earnest. “Both of you. I told you that.”

“And what exactly does your dad think about that?”

Rachel gives her a sardonic smile. “That my boyfriend and girlfriend are living with me? He doesn’t exactly know – not in those terms,” she adds hastily when Annabeth tries to say something. “All he knows is that my friends are moving in with me because they need a place to live and it’s closer to school and because I love your company. He’s used to that kind of stuff coming from me.’’ 

_Charity._

“Not charity!” Rachel scolds. “Eccentricity.” Then she glances away, and Annabeth has learned to recognise the look of vulnerability that crosses her face. “It’s not like there’s much I can contribute. You guys are pretty much perfect without me, anyway. Let me at least do this.”

Annabeth’s face softens. Placing her hands on Rachel’s hips, she pulls her closer until their foreheads are touching. (So are their hips, but she tries not to focus on that just now.) “Except not really,” she says. Rachel snorts. “I mean, we were pretty great. But you?” She kisses the tip of Rachel’s nose. "You make us even _better_."


	8. return to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s just so tired.

Annabeth hasn’t slept in three days, not since Percy disappeared, but still she lies, wide awake, the waves ringing in her ears. 

He came to her out of the water so many times it built a pathway in her brain, her neurons rearranging to form the image over and over. Sometimes he walks straight into her arms, and sometimes not; it doesn’t matter, because all it means is that she lost him and now he’s _back_. It infiltrates her dreams and waking hours alike. It makes her watch the beach from the corner of her eye, waiting, and every second that he’s not there the hope becomes more unbearable.

It is only when she’s knees-deep in seawater that Annabeth realizes exactly what she’s doing. And even then her heart’s not totally convinced she’s not doing the right thing, walking further to meet him, until it’s his voice in her head, smirky and gentle. _I'm not in there, you know._

“I don’t,” she whispers. “I don’t know. Where are you?” _Please come back to me_ , she adds in her head.

There is no answer, of course – no Percy, and no sea that gives him back to her; only cold, infinite darkness about to swallow her up. She wades ashore as fast as she can. Then, Annabeth sits down on the cool sand and starts to cry.


	9. Safe

* * *

Her eyes are already on him when his own snap open. His heart is pounding in his ears; his breathing is heavy and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his skin, making the air feel colder as he half-sits up and the sheets drop down his chest. It takes a panicked moment before he registers his surroundings, but when he does, his first feeling is relief at seeing Annabeth beside him – immediately followed by guilt at the thought that he may have woken her up.

“Nightmare?” she asks knowingly, comforting fingers already reaching up to thread through his hair. 

“Yeah,” he responds unnecessarily after a couple of moments. “About…Gabe,” he adds as an afterthought, frowning as the images come back to him. 

“Gabe?!” her tone is softly incredulous, like one might use with a child. She yawns. “Of all the things?” But she is already gently pulling his head toward her chest, her fingertips drawings soothing patterns on his scalp. 

“I know, right,” he agrees sleepily, though his heart is still beating wildly in his chest. He burrows his nose on her collarbone, focusing on the lemony scent of her hair and skin, on the feel of her fingers and the sound of her breathing. _This. This is the present._

It is almost laughable, he thinks. _Gabe_ of all things. He shouldn’t still be inspiring nightmares, shouldn’t make Percy wake in this state. But he does. It shouldn’t be worse, sometimes, to think of him than any monster he has ever faced. But it is. Sometimes, in the dead of night, it still is. 

He thinks Annabeth has already drifted off back to sleep when he hears her voice again. “Well,” she says, sounding half-asleep. “You’re fine now. You’re safe. Your mom’s safe. He’s gone now. Forever.” She places a kiss on the top of his head. 

_Safe._ In her arms, he supposes he always is.

* * *


End file.
